


Brown Hawk

by aliasofwestgate



Series: Bird of Prey [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Shapeshifting, canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliasofwestgate/pseuds/aliasofwestgate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Brown Hawk refers to a peregrine with immature plumage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brown Hawk

The day was a misty drizzle, as Arthur and Merlin sparred again. The miserable air made their clothes stick to them, and gain more and more mud on the practice grounds. Arthur made a charge at the other young man, feinting to the right and striking out with his left hand, which was gauntleted and holding onto a wooden blade about the size of his forearm. Merlin swerved out of the way and went into a roll, his foot striking out and landing solidly on Arthur’s shin.

Arthur spat out curses as he toppled slightly from the imbalance and the pain. Staggering to get his footing, he just barely dodges Merlin’s fist. Ducking as quickly as he can, glaring up at his friend, he strikes out with his own foot, attempting to swipe Merlin’s feet out from underneath him when the darker haired man comes too close. He bites back a curse as Merlin jumps over it and dashes off to the side; a few steps to the right, and a tap lands on Arthur’s right shoulder, signaling that he’s landed a blow. Arthur lets his arm go limp, as per their rules.

He stands up again, watching Merlin circle him once more. The weary, but playful, dark blue eyes, focus entirely on him, and he on them, as they size each other up again. Arthur takes two steps to gather his momentum, and kicks out towards Merlin this time. Merlin sees it coming, and slides out of the way, this time coming underneath Arthur’s guard at the same time. Arthur’s eyes widen, as he feels the wooden blade at his throat, the point of it held directly between the mail and the plate armor. 

“Yield?’ Merlin’s voice is cheeky, smiling as he says it.

“Yes.” Arthur’s voice mildly awed at how quickly that bout had been closed between them.

“Again?” The prince asks, and notes how quickly Merlin nods and looks at him. Wiry strength finally honed into something he can use; the awkwardness still there, but right now, nearly nonexistent.  He’s holding the wooden blades with an ease grown from the last month of practice, come rain or shine.  The last month of training has been grueling but the purpose has been a good one. Arthur had decided to extend the wooden blade work beyond the week in order to make sure the skills were truly ingrained before he gave Merlin real blades.

They return to their starting positions, Arthur smiling in pride at his friend, even as he feels Merlin’s complete focus on him. He holds back, Merlin takes it as a cue to begin the bout, charges Arthur out of the blue, striking out at him with fists, hands still wrapped around the wooden blades, adding their rigidity to his momentum. Arthur manages to dodge one blow, but the other strikes his cheek, and his head is rocked to the side. Blinking dazedly for half a second, his arms come up, interrupting the next set of blows from Merlin. Arthur grins for a moment as he shakes the daze from his head, he presses forward, using his slightly greater weight to attempt to pin Merlin down. They lock hands this time, and he manages to just move out of the way of a kick that sends Merlin tumbling to the ground, and Arthur with him. He feels their hands separate, and just manages to brace himself as Merlin rolls out, avoiding being pinned by the greater weight. The lithe young man lunges to his feet, almost quicker than Arthur can believe, and once again, the dagger to the neck.

“Do you yield?” Merlin gasping for breath but still smug as he asks the question.

Arthur bursts out laughing, and rolls onto his back, his face to the sky, amazed at the change in his friend. Looking over at Merlin, he finds him still stunning to look at, even with mud caked everywhere on his clothing and face, the blue eyes bright with mischief, and with the excitement of being in such a good fight. 

“Yes, Yes!” Arthur finally responds, still taking in his fill of this strangely, and scarily, competent Merlin, and finding he likes it. Likes it very much indeed.

“Don’t tell me that last punch drove you into madness? What am I going to do with you, sire?”  Merlin squats beside him for a moment, and then offers a hand up while he says the words.

“Just make sure I don’t bay at the moon, Merlin.”  Arthur says, as he stands up. “You do realize that there’s not much more I can teach you here. The rest has to be learned the hard way, outside of this practice field.”

Merlin nods, his eyes thoughtful for a moment. Arthur continues to watch him, realizing that there are still other secrets his friendhas kept from him. Recognizing a moment of memory for the manservant, he wonders what his life was like before Camelot; before Merlin would have needed such underhanded skills.

Arthur beckons with a hand, finally taking off the heavy gloves and the hood of his chain mail. He walks towards his personal armory, where he’d hidden the box a few weeks before, among his normal weapons, where Merlin wouldn’t find it. Smiling to himself, he lifts it carefully from among the many other boxes, and hands it to his manservant.

Merlin raises an eyebrow at him, skeptically.  “Arthur, what is this? Something else for me to polish?”  

“Open it already, you idiot!” Unable to hold back his smile as he watches Merlin suit actions to those very words, he watches the darker haired man hold up the rondel in wonder, before placing it back into the box and then pick up one of the stilettos in his long fingered hand.

“They are yours, Merlin. You’ve earned them, now all you have to do is get used to the feel of them.”  The prince moves to Merlin’s side, plucking one of the stilettos from the box and kneeling down beside his manservant’s feet. Tugging up the leg of his breeches, he slides one of the stilettos into his boot. Pulling the bit of clothing down again, he looks up to see Merlin’s eyes, wide and so very blue, watching him. “This is one way to wear them.” He says, as he rises, the stare making his belly flutter a little, but reinforcing the distance as he moves away again. He’s still unable to put a name to what this is, inside of him, and why Merlin stirs it so strongly.  His mind finally processing that the gesture was intensely intimate, Arthur hides his blush by turning away.

“Figure out your placement for the other two, Merlin. I’m going to get my own steel today.” Stepping over to fumble with one of the boxes containing one of the steel practice blades he uses himself.

“I…I…” He hears Merlin’s voice, soft in the sound of the light rain on the roof of the small armory. “Thank you.” 

Arthur listens to him walk back to their muddy practice circle, and moves to the front of the armory.  The prince watches Merlin move around the circle, going through complicated rolls and plucking the stiletto from places he hadn’t thought of.  Drinking in the sight of something he’d wrought, once again wondering when he would see his Merlin on the hunt, dreading it, and yet looking forward to it on the other hand. 

_Mooning over him like a lovesick girl, you are,_  he thinks to himself, shaking his head, and returning to find his own blades.  Bringing up the mail hood once more, he returns to the circle a few minutes later.

 

``````````````````````````````````````````````

Below Camelot, the dragon chuckles to himself, feeling the shift in Arthur’s feelings, and remembering all the confused conversations with Merlin over the last month or so. Another milestone reached, with so many more to go, he thinks. But such an  _important_ one it is.   

 

 

 


End file.
